That's a nice little poem, Rapaire, indeed. And I am glad for your showing it to me. But you wouldna consider the poem a product of yours, would you? Much as I appreciate your fetching it over. By quality of product I did not mean pointers, or wholesale copies, of other folks' BS when, with a little more focus and effort, we can generate such loverly stuff of our own odour, if you see what I mean! :D

This poem, by contrast, smells like deodorant from a Big Roll-On product...

When dealing with them in the wild Cover your ears with mittens; But don't f**k with your embouchure Or you'll have embouchurittens. The little ones are awful cute, As long as they stay little; But as soon as they begin to toot, You'll be awash in spittle.

Oh to be in Scotland now, Where the grass is all of silk, Where rich men get to ride a cow, And poor folks drill for milk, Where all the trees grow lightning bugs And the sheep all live in town. I'm sure if I were there today, My mind would calm right down!

Oh, to be in San Diego Where you can drive a Winnebago And e'en if you're a Pa, And they make you eat coleslaw You know that it's all right To bet on a good cockfight Right there in the plaza (While your wife is kept in purdah) For San Diego is the place Where you can fill up your braincase With the music of guitars Strummed by politicians in peignoirs.

-- Seamus O'Rostrokovich, Some Damned Good Poems I wrote (Dublin: St. James Infirmary Press, 1907)

Every morning at seven o'clock There are thirteen milkmaids drilling on the rock And the boss comes around, and she says, real mean, "Come down on yer drills for the Dairy Queen!" And drill, ye milkmaids, drill!

And drill, milkmaids, drill!! For you'll hammer and turn For the milk in the urn, Oh, drill, milkmaids, drill!!

Now the foreman gal was One-Eyed Sal A bitch on the job but a poor man's pal, She's scream at the milkmaids all the day "DOn't ye bring in curds, if ye wants yer pay!" And drill, milkmaids, drill.

Remaining verses left as an exercise for the student.

Mom, I had a flat tire going to work this morning and had to change it in the dark with nasty cars whizzing right by me,and now I want a drink.

I was commissioned some years ago to write a song. A young man named something like Mac Dagger asked me to write a song for his group and how they couldn't satisfy their needs. He wanted "something gritty" and I said I'd do it. Anyway, I wrote the following, which has had some success:

I can't get a triple latte, I can't get a triple latte, And I try, and I'll pay, and I'll pay! I can't git any I can't git any...."

OOOOOOOOOOOOH! Practical microbiology! Goes alone with my practical chemistry. (Chemistry, as I explained to my niece, consists only of fires, explosions, and stinks.)

I wonder if any of the drivers of those whizzing cars stopped and asked Amos if he knew he had a flat tire. When that's been asked of me I found it very, very helpful since I was COMPLETELY unaware of the flat and was simply taking the spare, the jack and other stuff out of the truck because I'd suddenly wondered, as I was driving along the Interstate, whether or not I actually had them in the car.

Maybe this was a trick question? I believe "A bitch on the job but a poor maid's pal" is more germane.

I had a flat on the highway a few weeks ago--at least, the puncture happened on the highway but it was a relatively slow leak and it wasn't until a couple of hours later in the driveway that it went flat. I heard a "pow!" and thought something had been thrown from the roadway onto the undercarriage, because the truck still felt like it drove okay. I've avoided that patch of road for a little while, hoping the road hazard has been removed by now.

Such a nice day outside Mom, I think I'm going to go outside and play. The dogs can go with me. Gluon can come too but I'd really rather travel in just one dimension this time. Our leashes got tangled back in 1967 and again in 1972 the last time she tried taking a walk with us. A simple 2006 traverse of the woods is all I ask.

Last time I walked that duckdog it chased a squirrel and ended up getting the leash tangled in 347 BCE, 1350 CE, 1916 CE, and 3479 CE. You ever try to untangle the same leash in the middle of an attempted palace coup in China, the Black Death, the Battle of Cambrai, and the attempt by the Ricians to defeat the Combined Fleet at the Holocaust of Rigel IVa? Lemme tell ya, it ain't easy turnin' green -- and blue, and black, and just the buboes will kill ya!

Hi Mom, what are you doing down there amongst Bin Laden and the Morris Dancers? While your kids are out walking I'll give you a nice cup of tea and a bit of a lift. I've been a good girl and put all the virtual chardonnay bottles in the recycling bin. Sorry about last year - I really did mean to pick them up, but something distracted me.

That Gluon - he really needs to go to a training school - if you could catch him first. Do they have training schools for duckdogs? That's why I'd never go for a walk with a duckdog - you never know where (or when) you're gonna finish up....

Hey, ya know, "Bin Laden and the Morris Dancers" sounds like some musical group! I must admit that the mental image of Osama Bin Laden prancing around in a porkpie hat, hankies tied to his wrists, does have a strange appeal!

Osama Bin Laden, professional murderer, religious zealot, rabble-rouser, promulgator of violence, destroyer of lives and property...take up Morris dancing? What would he do with his needle-work while this was going on? Where would he put his nittens and his rubber duck?